


An Outlaw Came A Knocking

by Loubylou



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Art, Midwife Rey, Outlaw Ben Solo, Outlaw meets smut ART, Small mention of blood, Wild West, mentions of wound care, still haven't got the courage to write smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loubylou/pseuds/Loubylou
Summary: Henrietta paused for a second to collect herself before she pulled back the deadbolts and turned the latch, dragging open the heavy door that was currently being brayed upon. Following the door on its inwards path was the slumped body of a very large man. A man that had had the audacity to seek her assistance twice prior this month.Outlaw Ren is yet again in need of assistance after getting himself shot.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	An Outlaw Came A Knocking

**Author's Note:**

> So this pile of rubbish came from the wonderful Mika's art - [@WitchyScribbles](https://twitter.com/WitchyScribbles), who recently celebrated 500 followers by making a pole on what to draw next. And the outcome was .......*drum roll*.......Outlaw and smut. 
> 
> Huge thank you to the awesome people in the Sisterhood of the High-waisted Pants Discord - [@HighWaistdPants](https://twitter.com/HighWaistdPants) \- for sharing the art and then encouraging my flippant remark of .... hurm I could write that.
> 
> This is only my second published work and I haven't got the nerve to try writing smut.....yet. 
> 
> Enjoy!!!!

The end of another dry and dusty day was drawing to a close as Henrietta made her last check over her small, but essential workspace; she’d converted the lower rooms of her humble wooden house just off the main dirt track through town. Being a midwife in the new frontier town of Jakku was damned hard work. You’d think these Cowboys would be to busy for fornicating after doing whatever it is that they do out there all day, but if her diary was to be believed it was quite the opposite. Jakku seamed to be in constant need of Henrietta’s skills, with a new child or two adding to the town’s population weekly.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Someone was incessantly thumping on the back door of her modest abode. “Yeah alright! Hold your horses!” She bellowed as she grabbed her rifle and made her way to the door. You could never be too careful in these parts, plenty of ruffians looking for anything they could sell for whiskey or their drug of choice. 

Henrietta paused for a second to collect herself before she pulled back the deadbolts and turned the latch, dragging open the heavy door that was currently being brayed upon. Following the door on its inwards path was the slumped body of a very large man. A man that had had the audacity to seek her assistance twice prior this month. 

“Fuck! Jesus!” Muttered the deep, gruff voice as its owner met the wooden floor with a thud, rolling onto his back to stare up into the questioning eyes of the homeowner he was in the middle of accosting. 

“Maybe we should leave the Lord out of this Ren? What mess have you got yourself into this time?” It was at this moment that Henrietta finally allowed her eyes to fall from checking her surrounds for noisy neighbours, to the mountain of a man that was sprawled out at her feet. “What the Hell happened to you this time Ren?!”

“Shout a little louder nurse, don’t think the Sherrif quiet heard you.” Jeered Ren has he tried to right himself and gain further entrance into the clinic, but only succeeding in tripping over his own coat as it tangled under his feet. Henrietta lurched forward to help him stand, pulling his arm up and around her neck, kicking the door closed with her booted foot. 

“Told you last time, and the time before that, I’m not a nurse. I’m a midwife. Did my time helping the dead cross over.”

“Yeah sure, sure, but you still know how to stitch up a wound right? I mean, you did ‘em the last times.”

“Mhm. Up on the table and open your shirt then, let’s get you patched up and out of my hair. It’s been a shit of a day.”

“Language there Ma’am.” This utterance earned Ren one hell of a scowl. Now, as an outlaw Ren had seen his fair share of conflict and danger - heck he was usually the cause of it and loving every bloody second of it, but if you were to ask him to recount his most scared moment it would be this one right here. The scathing look this woman was giving him should have killed him outright then and there.

With a huff and a muttered curse, Henrietta went to fetch supplies to see to Ren’s wound. Cotton cloths and freshwater to cleanse it so she could see the true extent of what she was dealing with, and then sutures, assorted dressings and bandages to seal and cover the cleaned wound. On her way back to the table that was starting to strain under the weight of the very large Outlaw, she grabbed a leather belt, and a bottle of whiskey from her stash. 

While left on his own Ren had done as instructed - he’d dared not - and lumbered up onto the table, swearing to Hell and back as his movements made his wound pull apart and bleed anew. His hands trembled as he attempted to undo the buttons that held the tattered ruins of his shirt together; profanities spilling from his lips with every failed attempt. 

“Let me,” Henrietta offered as she set her wares down, thrust the whiskey into Ren’s hand, and took up the task he couldn’t complete. Her small hands deftly pushing the metal buttons back through their holes, exposing more of Ren’s bruised and battle-scarred chest. _You’re_ covered _in scars Ren. What type of life has been dealt to you?_ She mused as she readied her equipment. “Drink,” she commanded. “This is going to hurt.”

As Henrietta concentrated on the task of tending to Ren’s wound, it allowed him the time to gaze upon her studious face. Hazel green eyes that sparkled with flecks of gold that one could spend an eternity panning for but never find a nugget half as wonderous. Skin that was tanned by a life spent under a baking sun, with freckles that dusted her delicate nose. His mind couldn’t help from wondering how far down those freckles went. Did they stop at that starched collar, or did they descend further to unseen skin hidden beneath the heavy restrictive fabric of her dress? This line of thought was dangerous, she’d surely never help him again if he were to give in to baser urges right now, and allow his flesh to show the outer signs of his internal thoughts. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day Ren, then who will mess up my clinic and drink all my whiskey?”

“You trying to say you’d miss me, Ma’am?”

“No, no, no Ma’am. Henrietta, but er, please, call me Rey.” Mumbled Rey as she wrung the blood from her cloth.

“Rey,” repeated Ren, testing the word on his tongue. He liked that. He could imagine saying that word for the rest of his life. Muttering it in their bed as they joined in physical, spiritual, and matrimonial union. _Shit! Where did that come from?_ “Only if you’ll call me Ben.”

“Ben? I like that.” She’d never felt this type of connection to another person before. Her head swam with only thoughts of Ben. She’d become captivated by him so quickly. While she had worked diligently at cleaning his wound her mind had wandered; this was simple work for her, she’d spent a lot of her time during the civil war at various tent hospitals up and down the fluctuating front line. Rey had started to imagine a life together with this loveable rogue. Lazy evenings together when work was done leading into passionate nights of lovemaking, uttering sweet promises and proclamations between steamy kisses. 

“Don’t be afraid Rey, I feel it too.” Whispered Ben as his hand came up to cup Rey’s cheek, his calloused thumb rubbing circles across her smooth skin. “You’re not alone.”

“And neither are you,” she murmured, a blush flushing her cheeks as she struggled to comprehend the deep meaning of his words that lay within the golden-brown depths of Ben’s eyes. Her eyes flicked to his luscious lips that should by all rights be too large for a face but were perfect on his. Soft, plump and crying out to be kissed. She moved her gaze to Ben’s eyes seeking approval, permission, acceptance to kiss him which he returned with a small incline of his head. 

That was all Rey needed, she rushed forward to meet his lips. Crushing their bodies together with an urgency she didn’t know she contained. In response, Ben’s hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck, massaging the flesh there and pulling her further still into him. 

The kiss deepened and tongues began to dance together in pursuit of dominance. Rey could taste the cheap whiskey on every swipe that her tongue made through his mouth. Which, in turn, earned her moans and groans from Ben deep in his throat. “Woman you’re going to kill me!”

“No chance Outlaw! I’ve claimed you now, you’re mine,” drawled Rey as she tried to regain her breath.

Ben liked the sound of that, being somebodies person. It had been a decade or more since he’d had the privilege of belonging to someone. “I could get used to the sweetheart.”


End file.
